Explore "Lost on the Steppe; or, the Snowstorm. a Tale" by Leo Tolstoy on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
My driver, without waiting for the last troïka to pass, began awkwardly to turn around; and the thills hit the horses attached behind. One of the troïka teams shied, tore away the reins, and galloped off.
"Hey there, you squint-eyed devil! Don't you see where you are turning? Running people down, you devil! " in a hoarse, discordant voice scolded one of the drivers, a short, little old man, as I judged by his voice and expression. He sprang hastily out of the hindmost sledge where he had been sitting, and started to run after the horses, still continuing roughly and violently to vilify my yamshchík.